The night breeze whistled solemnly through the narrow streets of Adelaide, slipping between the cramped, dilapidated buildings. The city slept in an eerie calm, but not everywhere was at peace.
Inside a cold, musty warehouse on the outskirts of the city, tortured cries echoed. The sight was one for only the strongest of stomachs. A man in his early fifties, clad only in bloodied security uniform pants, writhed in agony. His skin was torn from numerous whippings, and his left eye had swollen shut. Despite his agony, his desperate pleas were directed at a woman standing before him—a woman who looked down at him with nothing but contempt.
She wore a white dress, elegant and strikingly out of place in this dingy hideout. Her face was set in stone, unmoved by his suffering.
"I swear, madam, I don't know anything about the theft!" he cried, spitting out blood.
The woman, Celeste, winced at the sight, her lips thinning in disdain. She was beautiful, with a commanding presence, her plump figure only emphasizing her authority. Before she could speak, the man let out a guttural scream as the whip tore into his back again.
"Enough, Jenkins," she said, her voice cold but firm. "Let me speak."
"Apologies, Madame Celeste," the hulking figure of Jenkins muttered, stepping back. He was the man wielding the whip, a giant of a man with a face like stone.
Celeste approached the man on the floor, her heels clicking on the concrete. "If you really don't know who stole my painting, then tell me—was it not your responsibility to protect my possessions? You've gravely failed me."
"I'm sorry! I'll do better next time. I promise."
Celeste's patience snapped, and with a vicious kick, she sent the man sprawling. "Promises won't bring back my painting. It's worth a fortune."
She circled him slowly, her voice softening into something far more dangerous. "Manuel, what do you suggest I do to recover 'The Happy Fairy'?"
The room was silent, save for Manuel's labored breathing. Celeste's disappointment was palpable. "That's sad," she whispered, turning to Jenkins. With a nod, she gave her approval.
Jenkins stepped forward as Manuel, barely able to move, tried to scoot backward. It was futile. Jenkins raised his hand, and with one violent swing, Manuel's body went limp, his breath forever silenced.
Celeste rubbed her temples, visibly annoyed. "What now?"
"I apologize, Madam. I overestimated the old man's stamina," Jenkins replied, his tone flat.
Celeste sighed, her frustration mounting. "Dispose of the body. We need that painting back, and quickly."
As they left the warehouse and headed for the car, Jenkins noticed Celeste's pensive expression.
"Is something wrong, Madam?"
Celeste shot him an irritated glance. "Do you even have to ask? My painting was stolen, and whoever took it must know its true value."
Jenkins stared blankly, still not fully understanding. Celeste rolled her eyes. "The Happy Fairy is tied to numerous money laundering schemes. I can't let just anyone get their hands on it."
Jenkins nodded, but Celeste knew he didn't grasp the full gravity of the situation. She sighed. "Get me a ticket to Australia. I need to visit the Umbra Syndicate."
---
**Two Days Later: Bennani Gallery, Adelaide**
"In chaos, you can find order," Yuna Bennani whispered to herself, repeating the mantra she'd clung to all morning.
She stood at the large window of her office, watching as people bustled through the streets of Adelaide. Life went on, indifferent to the storm brewing inside her mind. After a few moments, Yuna turned back to her work, her gaze falling on one of her recent sculptures. People had offered to buy it for impressive sums, but she couldn't bring herself to sell it—it was a 'remix' of an older piece, too personal to let go.
"Anyway," she muttered, shrugging as she returned to her paperwork.
Her frown deepened as she read an email from a promising young artist. He had just sent a rejection letter, declining her offer to showcase his work at the gallery. She couldn't fathom why he'd pass on such a generous opportunity.
"You never know what these people are thinking," she murmured.
The rhythmic clicking of her keyboard brought her some solace, her mind easing as she focused on her work. But the calm didn't last. A commotion at the front desk interrupted her concentration. It sounded like her receptionist was trying to stop someone from barging in.
Before she could get up to investigate, her office door burst open, revealing a man in his early fifties. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, and he leaned heavily on a walking stick.
"What are you doing here, Victor LaGrange?" Yuna spat, her eyes narrowing. "And what have you brought with you?"
Victor smiled, an infuriatingly charming grin that made her blood boil. "Is that any way to greet your mentor?"
"Former mentor," she corrected sharply. "And didn't I tell you not to show your face around here? What are you playing at?"
He chuckled as he settled into the chair opposite her desk, casually placing a painting in front of him. "Still holding grudges, I see."
Yuna's fists clenched. The audacity of this man was staggering. "Whatever you want, it can't be good. My gallery has a reputation to uphold, and I won't let a known art forger tarnish it."
Victor waved her off, completely unbothered by her harsh words. "I'm not here to cause trouble. I just need you to keep this painting for me."
Her gaze fell on the canvas, and her lip curled in disgust. "No way. I won't exhibit that… monstrosity."
"I'm not asking you to exhibit it, Yuna. Just keep it hidden." Victor leaned forward, his tone growing serious. "This is important."
"That thing is hideous. What even is it?" she snapped.
Victor smiled again, his eyes gleaming. "The Happy Fairy."
Her jaw dropped. "The Happy Fairy? That's what you call it? It looks more like something out of a nightmare."
Victor's grin faded, replaced by a cold, calculating look. "You don't have to like it, but I'm telling you—you're the only one I can trust with this."
Yuna crossed her arms. "You've got other contacts. Take it to someone else."
Victor's eyes darkened. "If you refuse me, I'll have no choice but to leak certain… details about your past. Details that tie you to the Umbra Syndicate."
Yuna's breath caught in her throat, her hands trembling ever so slightly. Victor saw the fear in her eyes, and he knew he had her.
"Think about it, Yuna," he said softly, rising to his feet. "Keep the painting. It's better than losing everything."
Without another word, Victor left, leaving the painting—and a heavy weight—behind.
---
**Later That Night: Celeste's Estate**
Jenkins stood quietly in front of Celeste's desk, waiting for her to finish her phone call. She was speaking to one of her contacts in Europe, someone with ties to the underground art scene. From her tone, it was clear that the news wasn't good.
After hanging up, Celeste turned her cold gaze to Jenkins. "What is it?"
"I've found the painting, Madame," Jenkins said, his voice level.
Celeste's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Go on."
"It's in the Bennani Gallery in Adelaide. In Yuna Bennani's office, to be precise."
Celeste's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "Yuna Bennani... I've heard of her. How did the painting end up there?"
"I'm not entirely sure, but my source tells me it was Victor LaGrange who placed it there."
Celeste's smile faltered at the mention of Victor. "That snake. He's trying to hide it, no doubt. Probably hoping to use Yuna as a pawn in his little game."
Jenkins nodded, his posture stiff. "What are your orders, Madame?"
Celeste stood and moved to the window, staring out into the dark. "We pay Ms. Bennani a visit. I'll retrieve my painting personally. But not tonight. Tomorrow, we move."
Jenkins nodded again. "Understood."
As Jenkins turned to leave, Celeste called after him, "Oh, Jenkins?"
He paused, glancing back at her.
"Make sure you're prepared. Yuna might need some… persuasion."
---
To be continued